


Words Fall Through Me

by lapetitesinge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:04:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapetitesinge/pseuds/lapetitesinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry just needs some peace and quiet. In the midst of everything, he finds solace with the one person who seems to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Fall Through Me

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble written for the prompt "and language just happened, it was never planned" at LJ.

Harry remains at Hogwarts for a few weeks after the battle. Many others do as well, students and otherwise, crammed into the dormitories and camped out in the Great Hall, helping to rebuild the damaged parts of the school and burying their dead. It's astonishing how many people want to lay their loved ones to rest on the school's grounds. In an odd way, it seems to fortify the place as much as the new walls and turrets do, like an extra spell of strength guarding the castle. And, of course, many people are there to see and be alongside Harry, just wanting to savor being in his presence, wanting just to be in the aura of The Boy Who Lived, and died, and lived again, and triumphed again.

And for the most part, it makes him happy. It gets a bit embarrassing when people cry and wring his hand, as if he did it all singlehandedly, but mostly it just increases his sense of happiness and pride and peace. Knowing that it's all over, truly over, is an even better feeling than he could have guessed; it's like bands that have always been tight around his chest have suddenly been cut away. It's like he's never breathed properly before now.

But of course, there's pain as well, great towering waves of it, when he attends funeral after funeral, some of them for more than one person at a time. Occasionally he is even asked to say something, and it always makes him feel positively ill with grief and--he can't deny it--guilt. He's not sure whose is worse: Fred's, during which he sits next to Ron and grips his shoulder for twenty straight minutes, trying not to let his hand shake; or Remus and Tonks', when Andromeda embraces him and whispers that she's so glad Teddy has him in his life. It's after moments like these when he finds he just can't be around people anymore--no one outright seems to blame him, but his inextricable connection to each and every one of these deaths often overwhelms him.

When this happens, he seeks solace and solitude in his favorite spots on the grounds--the Owlery; the tree by the lake where he'd once seen his father and his friends; the Quidditch pitch. After a particularly wrenching conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Creevey, he finds himself headed straight for the Gryffindor team changing rooms, knowing they'll be empty. But as he rounds the edge of the pitch, his face still hot, he sees Luna sitting in the grass, absently picking at the grass and watching the sky. She looks around at his approach.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she says, quite conversationally. "Looks a bit like rain, doesn't it?"

He stops walking, momentarily distracted. "Uh--s'pose," he mutters. He really wasn't planning on talking to anyone, but somehow, he doesn't mind that she's there. "What're you doing here, anyway?"

"Oh, it's just nice to get away sometimes," she replies airily, sliding a blade of grass between her thumbs so it squeaks. "It's a bit crowded in the castle these days, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," he agrees, and, surprising himself slightly, sinks down onto the grass beside her. "It's nice to have...you know, quiet sometimes."

"Yes, I've seen you heading off on your own a lot lately," she says. "I don't blame you. You must have a lot of thoughts right now, and it's hard to sort them all out with everyone around."

As usual, she's said exactly what's in his head, what he couldn't find words for himself. "Yeah, it is," he says again. "And I know they all...mean well, but..."

"But no one else can quite feel the same as what you're feeling, can they," Luna fills in. "I mean, everyone's quite happy, and also quite sad, but you're probably the one who's the happiest and the saddest at the same time." She tilts her head, considering, and absentmindedly sticks the blade of grass in her mouth. "I suppose it's like eating a great mouthful of Every Flavour Beans all at once: one second it's quite delicious, when you get a treacle-flavoured one or a chocolate éclair, but then the next moment you get a dirt one or a rotten fish and it's terrible." She turns her great blue eyes on him. "Treacle's your favourite, isn't it?"

Harry can't say anything to this for several seconds, but she doesn't seem to mind; she picks at the grass a bit more and continues studying the clouds. Finally he manages to say "That's just what it's like, although I never thought of it like that." He shakes his head slightly. "How is it you always know just how to say things?"

She shrugs. "I find if you listen to people, and get to know them well enough, it's not hard to guess what they're thinking. Or what they're going to do. That's how I knew he was lying when he said you ran away. Voldemort, I mean." She says his name quite unflinchingly, and he can't remember her ever doing that before. "I knew you would never do that, so I thought maybe if he was lying about that, then he was lying about you being dead, too. And I'm very glad you're not dead," she adds, and she smiles.

"Well...thanks," he says, and he feels a wonderful desire to laugh. It's a bit like a sip of Felix Felicis. Then, suddenly, "You know--I saw your room. When I was at your house, a few months ago, before we came to the Malfoys'. I saw the painting on your ceiling."

"Oh, did you?" Her face lights up in a smile, and he registers vaguely that someone else might have been perturbed or even embarrassed by this. But not Luna. "Did you like it? It did take me a long time. I couldn't get the Daguerreous Charm quite right for at first, and your faces didn't quite look like you. You looked a bit like a gibbon. But I think I sorted it in the end."

"You did," he assures her. "It's beautiful. I...I really loved it."

"I'm glad." She beams. He says nothing for a few minutes, looking up at the tall golden hoops at the end of the Quidditch pitch, and they share a comfortable silence. She was always good at those. She squeaks another blade of grass between her fingers. "How d'you do that, anyway?" he asks.

"Oh, it's easy," she says. "I'll show you." She reaches over and puts her hands over his, positioning his fingers. And in one easy moment, he's holding both her hands in his, and in another, he's leaning over and kissing her, lightly, like a hand sweeping the grass. She tastes a bit like marmalade.

After a moment, they break apart. "That was nice," she tells him, smiling again.

"It was," he agrees. "Definitely a treacle moment."

They sit there, quiet, still holding hands, watching the sky. He's completely forgotten about wanting to be by himself; with her, he doesn't feel alone at all.


End file.
